Page 1 of Flanders' Folly
1
A FORTUITOUS FOLLY
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Near Laird Stephan’s fort, Gallabrae, Mabon of 1325…
Flanders chided himself for not pushing his mount faster while the sun was still up. As a result of his lack of haste, he now found himself picking his way home through the trees, far too near the home of his enemy to stay to the road, with less than a quarter moon to light the way. That was, when the moonlight could be seen at all.
He’d been a fool to think the fort might be distracted with Mabon revelry so he could slip by unnoticed. But it occurred to him, too late, that Laird Stephan would never allow his people to celebrate the pagan holiday.
The bitter man had probably held no ill will toward the pagans at all until he learned that Robert the Bruce had asserted his protection over them. And there were few men who walked the earth that Hector Stephan hated worse than the king of Scotland.
Unless it was James Duncan.
James had been gone a full four years now. So, in his stead, Stephan hated Flanders for being the one man standing between him and James Duncan’s expertly constructed stone fortress, Todlaw. Four years since the king demanded James give Stephan a stone keep of his own…one rock at a time.
Naturally, Stephan was livid he’d been tricked out of a great reward—a reward promised to the man who introduced James to the woman he would take to wife. It was a deed Stephan had fulfilled. He had, no doubt, expected a great treasure of silver or jewels, but the jest was on him. The Bruce had been on hand when James declared his intentions to marry the woman Stephan had provided and, meddling monarch that he was, the king had chosen the reward himself.
And a bitter grudge was born.
After teasing Stephan with the promise of a stone keep, which that laird dearly desired, the king had ordered James to gift his neighbor with only the stones to build one. Stones Stephan was required to transport himself. And out of spite, Stephan had refused to build it.
Notwithstanding, the stones were moved from Todlaw to Gallabrae, where the petulant man left them in a great pile, just outside his palisade, where it could stoke the fire of his anger each time he looked to the west.
The sight of it upset Flanders as well, for each time he was forced to pass the fort, when he had business in the east, he saw a perfectly good store of stone that he knew just how to use. Stone he could neither purchase nor barter for.
Fearing he’d lost sight of the path, Flanders halted his horse and studied the inky black forest floor. Voices up ahead made him curse his luck. But since he couldn’t go on until he had the forest to himself again, he dismounted and relieved himself.
The murmurs continued, moving neither closer nor further away. A few minutes later, the tinkling of light laughter and the pitch of those voices told him those blocking his path were women.
He smiled. What had he to fear from women who could be charmed?
Trailing the reins behind him, he set off again. When there were but twenty yards between himself and a break in the trees, he saw them. Five of them. Three huddled together, and two standing watch. A pity they were watching in the wrong direction.
He carefully cleared his throat, though he did not slow. Immediately the three jumped apart and the two watchers hurried to stand in Flanders’ way—two men whose small swords spoke for them. He stopped in his tracks, and for their sakes, he took a step to the side so a ray of moonlight could warn them just whom they dared to threaten.
One sword lowered immediately. The man’s quick smile proved he couldn’t be one of Gallabrae’s dour men.
“Flanders, isn’t it?”
“The very same.”
The other man came forward with an open hand. Though, in the shadows, he might have been Flanders’ tall mother for all he could tell. “Thomas and Torquil.Muir,” he said, and shook Flanders’ hand.
“Muir?” His mind whisked him back to the day James Duncan had disappeared—right before his eyes. And that, after two sets of Muir witches had come to Todlaw to collect Pheobe, the woman Flanders had once thought to make his wife. Unfortunately, she and James were already in love with each other, though they’d denied it.
That was the day he’d learned that his best friend was not as mad as Flanders had once thought. For in all the years they’d battled beside each other, James sometimes spoke about the future, the distant future, as if he’d once lived there.
A place to which James and his would-be wife had returned. And all with the help of Muir witches.
After Flanders shook the hands of both men, two women stepped forward. Though they, too, were twins, they were not the sisters who had visited Todlaw that fateful day. Thomas introduced them as Bella and Brigid. They were lovely, even in the darkness. Tiny shafts of moonlight lit the red fire and gold of their hair, the only color amidst the shadows.
Flanders took the hand of the nearest sister and lifted it to his lips. And the oddest thing…
Both sisters gasped as if they’d been burned. The hand was gone, and the two clutched each other, their pretty faces hidden. The brothers took a protective step closer to the pair, but they didn’t draw their blades. In fact, they paid Flanders no heed at all. Clearly, they didn’t believe him to be a threat.
“What is it, sister?” Thomas said, gently trying to pry the pair apart. “What did ye see?”
